A Brother's Love
by Espoir Noir
Summary: There are two sides to every story. Even forgotten ones.


I adored my brother. I can say that safely now. Now that we're both dead. I don't think he ever realised. He was always too caught up in the fact that Mother loved me more. Which I never believed. I saw the way she looked at him after they'd had an argument. The agony in her eyes. And I've never seen someone cry as much as she did the day he left home.

When we were little, Sirius invented this special game for us to play. 'Secrets', we used to call it. One of us would hide objects around the house, and then the other one would have to find them. But we'd pretend there were traps and enchantments and things. We used to think that Mother didn't know, and it was thrilling, trying to hide it from her. One day, our cousin Narcissa played with us. Sirius made her the princess, and she hid in a room at the top of a staircase. When we got close, Sirius told me it was a tower, and we only had one rope. He said that I had to stay at the bottom, and mind the horses, while he went up to rescue Narcissa. I waited for ages, hours it seemed, though I guess it was only about fifteen minutes. Then I went after him. They were huddled in the corner, kissing, his hands clasping her golden hair. I don't know who was more surprised. Narcissa went home crying, and we never played again.

The night before Sirius left for Hogwarts, we had a party. All the family was invited, and Kreacher cooked a huge meal. I can remember being insanely jealous, wishing it was me that was being goggled over and praised. Mother was so proud, lording it over her sister-in-law because Sirius was the first grandson to go to Hogwarts. The Blacks have always been rather medieval in their views on inheritance. The next night though, the house was deathly silent. Mother's face was as pale as the moon, but Father's was crimson red with anger. Nobody said a word. Nobody needed to. Father had sent three owls to Sirius before he got a reply. He would have been disowned there and then if Mother hadn't stopped him. "At least it's not Hufflepuff", she said. Father had merely nodded. I don't think she ever told Sirius that she'd stood up for him that night. She pretended she was just as mad as Father. Perhaps I should have said something, but I was too cross at him for causing so many arguments, and too young to realise it might have made a difference.

It was when I was Sorted into Slytherin that I knew all hopes of being friends with my brother were gone. I don't remember ever actually thinking this, it was just something I instinctively knew. Perhaps it was the look he gave me when I walked what seemed the endless distance from the stool to the Slytherin table. It was almost as if he'd stood up and shouted at me "You're no better than the rest of them!" It wasn't hatred in his eyes, more a sort of bitter loathing. When the hat was placed on my head, I pleaded with it. I tried to explain how much distance it would put between me and my brother. But I guess it must have read how little bravery there was in me, my terror of what my parents would say if I was Sorted into Gryffindor. So I was a Slytherin. I tried my best to pretend it didn't bother me. And being brought up the way I was, I certainly fitted in with most of the views that were expressed in that noble house. I guess I knew that was where I belonged. But there was always a minute part of me that wished I'd been in Gryffindor.

I regret now, some of the things I did. I used to write to Mother about the trouble Sirius had gotten into at school, and I'd grin at him as he opened howlers at breakfast. It wasn't because I hated him, or even disliked him. But I realised he would never like me, and so I tried instead to win my mother's affection. She used to tell Sirius how wonderful I was, how the way I embraced my bloodline was truly admirable. But I think she despised me for being so cowardly, for telling tales like that. Sirius never told tales. Probably because the only mischief I ever got into was of the sort my parents would approve. Although I'm sure it was also because he would never stoop as low as I did. He was better than that.

I never liked his friends. Probably because I envied them. But Potter was always arrogant, raising his eyebrows at me as if I was an ignorant four-year old, and Lupin was so serious all the time it frustrated me. On top of the fact that he was the cause of many arguments at home. And Pettigrew, well, I don't really need to say anything there. His constant twitchiness unnerved me, as if I too should be on the lookout. But I despised the way he seemed to leech off the others, agreeing with everything they said. I don't think Sirius liked him much either, but he put up with him because he felt flattered. Yes, Sirius could be incredibly vain at times. He always seemed to have a dozen girls hanging off his every word. It surprises me that he never married. But then, with all that happened between him and Narcissa…Perhaps he was too hurt to love anyone else. That was what caused the terrible hatred between him and Bellatrix. Hard to believe they ever liked each other really. But they did. And then she found out about their secret romance, the stolen kisses at family dinners or in the corridors as Hogwarts. And she ruined it. Afterwards, Narcissa wouldn't even look at Sirius. And there was something in his eyes. As if part of him had died.

I only ever fell in love once. I was in my sixth year. Cecile Woodrow was in her fifth. She was in Slytherin too; I would never have dared to fall in love with someone who wasn't. I wasn't as brave as Sirius. Cecile had beautiful chestnut hair that fell in waves to her waist. Her blue eyes seemed to reflect the sky as accurately as the ceiling of the Great Hall. We used to talk about everything from Quidditch to the latest Transfiguration developments. I brought her home for the Christmas holidays, to meet my parents. I wanted to be with her forever, to grow old with her. But she ended it. Two days before Christmas she said goodbye, her suitcase in her hand. She never fully explained. I never asked. I didn't really want to know. It would have been awful if she left because of me. And devastating if it was because of my family.

That was when I changed, I think. Not noticeably. But enough. I gave up on trying to live my own life, and immersed myself fully in what it meant to be a Black. That was when I first heard of Lord Voldemort. I mean, when I first truly took notice of the rumours. I had been hearing about him and his cause for many years, of course, but it was only after Cecile left me that I began to be interested in him. Oh, how much I regret that now. How much hung on those few months. If only I had taken a different path, listened to those who spoke out against him, how much might have changed. But it's useless to fixate yourself on the past. I must move on.

My initiation took place in the middle of the night. As one would expect. They had captured a muggle family. I imagine they hadn't done anything at all, except be born without magic. But I didn't question that at the time. I was all too ready to spout the ideas that were given to me, to uphold the purity of the better wizarding families. I had to torture them. Watch and laugh as their bodies shook with the screams of unbearable pain. Until they could no longer make a sound. And then I killed them. Some say that the first murder is always the worst. And to some extent that's true. You're able to shut yourself off after a while. Ignore the fact that just like you, they are human. But I heard their screams in my nightmares. And each death made them louder.

The next year and a half passed in a blur, and when I think about it now all I can see is the red sparks of the unforgiveable curses, expressions of pain, and those long black cloaks. My nightmares increased until I began to dread the meetings, knowing that the next night I would wake crying out, covered in sweat. Perhaps that was when I first started to question. I saw Voldemort differently. His actions, which before had seemed so wondrous and modern, so [iawe-inspiring[/i, no longer held power over me. And then I lent him Kreacher and realised how mistaken I had been. It was like an epiphany, however clichéd that may sound.

I expect you know the rest. There is no point going over it all. I see it as the stand-out good action of my life. Of the rest, I am mostly ashamed. It was Sirius who gave me the courage to do what I had to do. Indirectly, of course. I only saw him once after I left home. It was one Christmas, in Diagon Alley. He was with James and Lily, who was looking more beautiful as she grew older. I saw him before he saw me. I stopped, drinking in his image. He looked up then, and our eyes locked. I couldn't read his expression. But I'm sure my longing must have been obvious. He turned away. And so I did too. I digress. He gave me the courage to do what I must. I saw his face in my mind's eye, and I knew that I could not just walk away.

I am glad that I died. It sounds strange to say, but it is true. It would have been too difficult to have survived afterwards. Too many people that I loved would have been put at risk. And I think it meant more, my willingness to die a complete contrast against His determination not to. I am sorry that Sirius could not live out the life he deserved. But it makes me smile to think they we both died fighting for the same thing. Our death connected us as life never did.


End file.
